


Mistletoe and Wine

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Carol Singing, Christmas fic, Cross-Post from Tumblr, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8867350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: [First posted on Tumblr, Christmas 2013] When people have been hardened by sadness and solitude, sometimes all it takes is for someone to reach out with festive spirit to melt the iciest of hearts, as a primary school librarian and one of her pupils find out…





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was my RSS gift to the fandom in general at Christmas 2013. Cross-posting to AO3 in anticipation of hopefully finishing its sequel next week.

**Mistletoe and Wine**

Mary Margaret Blanchard hated Monday morning staff meetings with a vengeance. Especially during the last week of term before Christmas. Everyone was tired, most people were hungover, and no-one wanted to be there. Mills was even more of a witch than usual, and Mary Margaret could guarantee that none of her colleagues would pay her the slightest bit of attention when she tried to make her announcement. The headmistress had been droning on for the past half an hour; there were only five minutes before the bell went for morning lessons and she had the sneaking suspicion that Mr Booth was already asleep in his chair.

“So that’s all from me,” Ms Mills said eventually, and immediately people started getting up to leave. “Any other business?”

Mary Margaret took a deep breath and raised her hand. As per usual, she was ignored.

“Excuse me. Excuse me!”

The other staff turned to her.

“Carol singing is tonight,” she said, and a couple of her colleagues groaned. Mary Margaret suppressed one of her own but pushed on regardless. Sometimes she felt as if she was the only one remotely committed to putting on any extra-curricular activities for the pupils. “Now Ashley’s had to go unexpectedly, I need another member of staff to chaperone. Otherwise not all the kids who’ve signed up can go.”

“I will.”

Miss French volunteered straight away and Mary Margaret’s relief was immensurate. Belle had only been with Storybrooke Primary since the beginning of the year, but she had already made an impression. The library, once dark and dusty and mainly frequented by staff needing to use the ancient photocopier in one corner, was now light, colourful and welcoming. Mary Margaret, who was in charge of the literacy curriculum, was over the moon. The headmistress, who had made no secret of hoping to be able to use the section of the budget allocated to the library on other things, was not quite as impressed, but there was nothing she could do about it. Miss French loved books, and the children loved her.

She gave a sigh of gratitude. “Thanks, Belle. Anyone else won’t be turned away if you want to come too. It’s for a good cause, remember.”

She didn’t have any takers, but it wasn’t a problem, she had her legally required number of chaperones now. Astrid, one of the dinner ladies, had also agreed to help shepherd the children as they sang their way around the village. Belle came over as they filed out of the staffroom.

“What’s the good cause?” she asked.

“The air ambulance.” Mary Margaret sighed. “It was the first charity I could think of that all the kids would immediately know what it does.” The air ambulance had received the meagre profits from their carol singing for the past three years and Mary Margaret was getting slightly worried that the other local charities would start to feel left out. She voiced this concern to Belle, who laughed.

“It’s a shame more people don’t want to get involved,” she said, glancing around at their disappearing colleagues. “You’d think they’d want to encourage the children if nothing else.”

“Well, you know, they don’t want to spend two hours out in the cold annoying the residents with a group of children they’ve been trying to keep in check all day. We’re all overworked and underpaid at the moment. These past couple of years Astrid, Ashley and I’ve just done it between us; we’d given up trying to get anyone else involved.”

“It’s a shame,” Belle repeated ruefully. “But still, I love carol-singing, so you can count me in.”

“We’ll meet up outside the school at half-past six, each take a group in a different direction and meet up at the town hall at half-eight. The children get picked up and we go to the pub for mulled wine.”

“An excellent idea.”

“I’ll tell you the rest of the guidelines later,” Mary Margaret added quickly as the bell rang, summoning them to classroom and library respectively. Belle nodded as she dashed round the corner, a cry of ‘see you later, then’ floating over her shoulder.

Miss Blanchard went into her lessons that morning with a smile on her face.

X

It was a cold night for carol singing, and Belle’s breath was rising in misty tendrils in the air as she waited outside the school with Astrid and Mary Margaret for the children to arrive.

“Stick to the main roads,” Mary was saying. “And don’t go to houses where there’s obviously no-one in. This is a list of houses to avoid.”

“Got it.”

Henry was the first of the children to arrive, and Belle smiled. He was by far her most frequent visitor in the library, having arrived new at the beginning of the school year like she had. He jumped out of his mother’s yellow Beetle and waved goodbye before running down the street towards the school.

“Hi Miss Blanchard, Miss French, Miss Astrid.”

“Hi Henry,” Belle said. “How are you getting on with the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?”

“I finished it last week!”

Henry and Belle were soon immersed in literary chatter to while away the minutes whilst the rest of the children arrived, and Belle was happy to find that Mary Margaret had put Henry into the group that the librarian would be taking around the town. She knew it was bad for a teacher to have favourites, but Henry was so enthusiastic about books, he reminded Belle of herself when she was his age. Still, as lovely as it would have been to monopolise Henry’s attention for the entire trip, Belle made sure to speak to all the children in her little group and let Henry chat to his friends. They were making good progress along the road that led north, away from the school, when the children walked straight past a garden gate, giving the house beyond no thought at all.

“Aren’t we going up here?” Belle asked, one hand on the gate. There were lights burning in the front room of the house; it was definitely occupied, and the footsteps in the snow on the path showed that its occupant had only recently returned to it. Ava and Nicholas shook their heads.

“We don’t sing at the pink house,” Grace explained patiently.

Belle’s brow furrowed. It had not been on the list of places to avoid that Mary Margaret had given her.

“Why not?”

Grace sighed.

“It’s Mr Gold’s house,” she said. “You’ve only been in the village three months, you probably haven’t heard of him.”

“I haven’t,” Belle agreed.

“He doesn’t like children,” Nicholas added. “When it snowed last year, some of the older boys were trying to get him with snowballs. It didn’t end well.”

“I can’t imagine it did,” Belle observed. “Throwing snowballs at unsuspecting adults doesn’t usually get a good reception.”

“He’s horrible,” Ava added. “Like Scrooge and the Grinch all in one. He hates Christmas. How can anyone hate Christmas?”

“He’s just grumpy,” Morraine concluded. “All the time. Especially at Christmas.”

Henry, new to the village like Belle was, hadn’t contributed anything to the discussion, and was looking from his friends to the pink house, to Belle, and back again.

“Well of course he’s grumpy if he never gets any carol singers,” he said, as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world, and he slipped through the gate before Belle had any chance to protest. “Henry!” she called, but he was a boy on a mission and her shouts fell on deaf ears. She sighed and went through the gate after him; the last thing she wanted was the boy being yelled or sworn at or worse, falling into the clutches of a predatory pervert. She turned to the remaining children who were leaning on the gate posts.

“Wait here. If any of you wander off, you’re not going to be allowed to come to the Christmas storytelling session on Friday.” Belle had organised the event for the last day of term as a treat for the children, and she knew how many of them were looking forward to it. It was an effective threat, and Nicholas, Ava, Grace and Morraine nodded their solemn understanding.

Belle continued up the path after Henry, casting quick glances behind her to check that the kids had indeed stayed put.

“Henry!” she called again, but as she reached the doorstep, she paused. She was here now, she’d come this far, and Henry was safe if she was there. Why shouldn’t he sing here? Because deep down, she thought that perhaps Henry was right. People did not turn away from the world for no reason; usually it was because the world had turned its back on them.

 “What shall we sing then, Henry?”

“Erm, the only carol I know all the words to is ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’,” Henry said. “Normally I just la the bits I don’t know. But that’s a bit more obvious when it’s only you singing.”

“I’ll sing with you,” Belle reassured the boy. “’We Wish You A Merry Christmas’ it is.”

They sang the first verse and chorus, and Henry knocked on the door expectantly as Belle turned to check on her charges once more. Mary Margaret and her group of children had come over to the gate to see what was going on, and Grace appeared to be explaining. The dark-haired teacher looked up at Belle, brow furrowed to question, and Belle shrugged in response. Mary Margaret shook her head with a rueful smile, the action showing that the other teacher had given Belle her blessing but wasn’t expecting anything from her and Henry’s venture.

There was no response from the house, but at least it was better than being told to go forth and multiply in rather less pleasant terms, as had happened to Belle on more than one occasion when she had gone carolling in her last town. Henry’s shoulders slumped dejectedly, and Belle felt sorry for the boy, with his faith in human nature being blown out with the cold wind.

“It’s ok, Henry,” she said, putting an arm round his shoulders and turning back down the path. “We’ll have more luck at the next house.

“Wait.”

Belle and Henry turned at the voice. A man, presumably Mr Gold, was standing in the front doorway.

“I haven’t had carol singers here for ten years,” he murmured, although Belle wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to himself. Henry, ever fearless, beamed at Belle and raced up the slippery path towards the front door.

“We’re collecting for the air ambulance,” he said cheerfully, holding out his collecting tin.

“Indeed.” Gold fished in one of his pockets and dropped a couple of coins into the box. He looked up from Henry to Belle. “Your son has an excellent singing voice, madame.”

Belle blushed on instinct, but Henry paid her no heed, continuing to chatter on with a child’s easy confidence.

“Oh no, this isn’t my mum, this is Miss French, the school librarian.”

“Extra-curricular activities, Miss French?” Mr Gold asked. Belle nodded as she continued her appraisal of the man in front of her, the man with the reputation as Storybrooke’s resident Grinch, the mysterious man whom she had never yet seen.

He was younger than she’d expected, although he leaned heavily on a cane and there was noticeable grey peppering his hair. There were laughter lines around his eyes, but she got the feeling that he had not had much to laugh about in a long time. He was a man with a story, that much was obvious, and it was not a happy story. Over his shoulder, she could see a sliver of the living room behind him, a slice of a beautifully bedecked Christmas tree with brightly coloured presents underneath it. The sight made her frown; why would someone with Gold’s reputation for hating Christmas have such a beautiful tree?

There was an awful lot more to Mr Gold and his pink house than met the eye. He was almost like a detective novel, and there was nothing that Belle wanted more than to open his covers and read him, uncover his mysteries.

It was then that she realised she hadn’t answered his question.

“Yes, we’re taking some of the children carol singing to raise money for a good cause.”

“And then all the teachers go to the pub, I presume?”

“We do. The Crown has the best mulled wine, so I am told.”

Henry looked from Belle to Gold and back again before leaning closer to Gold and saying, in a dramatic stage whisper “this is the part where she’s asking you out without asking you”.

“Henry!” Belle scolded, feeling the blush return to her face like fire. “You’re making trouble!” She hastily steered him away from the door, but Gold seemed more amused than anything, the lines around his eyes crinkling slightly in the barest hint of a smile.

“Well, thank you for the impromptu serenade, Miss French, Henry.” He paused. “Merry Christmas.”

“And to you,” Belle replied, but the front door was already closing.

Henry skidded down the path towards the others who were gathered at the gate, rattling his collecting box triumphantly. Mary Margaret’s eyes were saucer-wide.

“How in the name of all that is holy did you manage that?” she asked. Belle shrugged again.

“You’ve just got to trust in human nature,” she replied. “If you reach out to someone, likely as not they’ll reach back.”

“Or smack your hand away,” Mary Margaret said drily. “Still, I can’t knock your results. Come on, we can still get a couple more streets done before everyone goes home.”

X

“So…” Belle said later, once the three staff were perched on stools at the bar in the Crown, their coats hanging up and their hands warming nicely from the mulled wine that Ruby, the barmaid, had poured for them as soon as they had entered. “Mr Gold, the scrooge you’ve never even tried to pry a penny from…” She paused. “What’s the story there?”

Mary Margaret sighed. “He owns the haberdasher’s at the far end of the high street.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever been in.” Belle hoped that her expression would prompt Mary Margaret and Astrid on to divulge more information.

“Beautiful hand-spun wool,” Astrid said, somewhat dreamily. Belle had learned very quickly, on being presented with some personalised mittens at the end of her first week at the school, that Astrid was an extremely keen knitter. “The man himself though…” She shrugged. “He’s not a nice man. Never has been, for as long as I’ve been buying his wool. He keeps himself to himself. If we don’t bother him, he doesn’t bother us. You don’t see him out and about much. It’s always a bit strange bumping into him in the chemist or suchlike. You tend to forget he exists outside of the shop and local rumour.”

 Belle let out a long breath, watching the steam from her mulled wine curl white in front of her. There had to be some explanation for his misanthropy, and she told Mary Margaret as much.

“It depends who you ask. It all happened a long time ago, before I came to the village,” the dark-haired teacher said quickly. “According to local sources, there was a son who went missing, and it all got… nasty. Gold was arrested on suspicion of killing him, but nothing could ever be proved.”

“There’s no smoke without fire, though,” Astrid added. “The damage to his reputation was done.”

 Belle made no comment. It must be horrible to be suspected by the very people you wanted to help you.

“The kids call him the Grinch,” she said eventually. The corner of Mary Margaret’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t speak.

“His temper’s always fouler at Christmas time. Cold and snow play havoc with his injury,” Astrid said off-handedly. “The kids have great fun guessing what’s wrong with his leg.”

“It’s not that,” Mary Margaret whispered, once Astrid had excused herself to the ladies. “His son vanished on Christmas Eve, or so they say.”

Belle thought of the sliver of Christmas tree she had seen, and something inside her twisted at the sad picture it now presented.

X

Belle stared down at the dregs of her wine, swirling them around in her glass. Mary Margaret and Astrid had long since gone home, but she had stayed on, alone with her thoughts. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so disappointed. She’d asked a veritable recluse out on a date – hell, she hadn’t even asked him outright – and she shouldn’t have been surprised when he didn’t show. But she’d recognised him as a lonely soul in need of companionship, and she had wanted to be the one to provide that. Learning his story from Mary Margaret and Astrid had made her want to learn it first hand from the man himself all the more.

“Is this seat taken, miss?”

Belle shook her head.

“Nope.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of something catching the light, and she turned her head minutely to see a gold-handled cane hooked over the edge of the bar. She looked up sharply to find Gold sitting beside her, his face a perfect mask of neutrality but his eyes darting nervously around the pub. Belle could forgive him that, he’d taken a leap of faith as it was. If he wasn’t used to socialising with the rest of the town then he had every right to feel out of place. Luckily the pub was comparatively empty, just a couple enjoying a late meal in one corner and a few of the old regulars at their usual table by the fire. No-one was paying the bar any attention, and Gold seemed to begin to relax in minute increments. Belle smiled. She too had taken a leap of faith, reached out, and she hadn’t been pushed away.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said.

“Neither did I,” Gold admitted, and his face took on a charmingly sheepish aspect. “Perhaps I’ve had enough of drinking alone. And since we’re both here, may I buy you a drink?”

Belle smiled. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Ruby was wearing her sly little grin as she came over to take their order, and her eyes flickered upwards a couple of times. Belle and Gold followed her gaze to the sprig of mistletoe pinned to the bar directly above where they were sitting. Belle could have sworn it hadn’t been there before. She smiled, and Gold smiled back, tentatively reaching along the bar to take her hand and press a chaste kiss to her knuckles.

“Merry Christmas, Miss French.”

“And a happy New Year, Mr Gold.”

And at that moment, Belle could believe that it would be, for both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully a sequel is coming soon!


End file.
